


Life in the Third Act

by Karios



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 10:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12580052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/pseuds/Karios
Summary: Harriet Jones served her country. Harriet Jones saved her world. Harriet Jones deserves a happy ending, and finds it with another woman who did too.





	Life in the Third Act

**Author's Note:**

  * For [triplesalto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplesalto/gifts).



> I was so excited when you mentioned being okay with crossover ideas because your prompts worked really beautifully together. This combines a lot of what you requested, so I hope it makes up for my lateness in posting.
> 
> Thank you ever so much to Borusa for the last-minute beta. Your feedback was invaluable.

The Doctor is in a funk; the kind not even guitar riffing and intense chalk scribbling could fix. Lately, there are too many bad days when he's painfully aware that not everybody lives. So when someone, he's not altogether sure who, suggests "he get out, go help someone, and quit moping already" the Doctor, remarkably, listens.

The TARDIS picks--because of course she does--a quaint cottage that rings no bells, literal or figurative, yet he lets himself in the front door. He watches silently, as the figure on the couch beats out quiz show contestants to three answers, before she even turns to look at him.

"Harriet," he whispers.

"Jones. Former Prime Minister," she finishes for him.

The Doctor opens his mouth to introduce himself in kind, but he never gets the chance.

Instead Harriet’s lips quirk into a half smile. “Who's looking a bit tired now?”

“It’s been a few thousand years, and I'm President of the World now.”

“Did you run unopposed?”

He considers saying he didn't run at all, but what comes out instead is: “I'm glad you survived the Daleks.”

“So am I. It’s Oman,” she directs back at the television.

The Doctor nabs the next one. “1794. I was there.”

“You’d clean up on a quiz show.”

“Tried it once. Bit of a mess. What would you say to an adventure?”

“I’ll bring scones. Even spaceships need supplies.”

The scones are good. The trip--not so much, as the TARDIS goes pitch black, the second they land.

The Doctor switches on the screwdriver, lighting both himself and the former Prime Minister in a faint blue glow.

“Does this happen every time?” Harriet asks.

“Only when I change universes,” he answers and watches as she puzzles out whether he's telling the truth. 

He must have stared too long because she prompts, “Doctor, the lights?”

“It’s...being worked out.”

He winces about testing out the reboot mechanism he installed after the last time. It’s not perfect, but seems to be holding, if the flicker of light under the grating is any indication. The damage is already done, he reminds himself, and at least he won't be trapped this time.

They step out into what feels like a White House corridor: too bright, too wide, with the extra bit of polish and ostentation that says the building itself is trying hard to impress. It is thankfully empty. “I meant to bring you to see the first female President of the United States, Courtney Woods,” the Doctor explains hastily. “It's going to be awhile before we can try again, so if you want...” is as far as he gets before Harriet, in true companion fashion, charges off.

President Hillary Clinton is a delightful surprise for many reasons, not the least of which is that their first meeting goes better than the one he had with Richard Nixon. There are significantly fewer guns pointed at him, for one thing.

Though the Doctor wouldn't admit to anyone but himself, he’s not much help with the lie they ultimately use, Harriet spins the tale, and he merely nods along at the appropriate places. He’s too busy sulking to catch much, beyond that he’s apparently Harriet’s older brother.

“Oh, hm yes. My dear sister is a big fan of yours,” contributes the Doctor absently.

“Oh my word,” gushed Harriet, “I’ve admired your work for years, your commitment to children and families, to balancing practicality and fairness. America is lucky to have a strong, but kind, woman at the helm.”

Hillary smiled. “I'm equally lucky to serve millions of good people just like you. I'm encouraged that so many people at home and abroad are fired up about our agenda. I want to do right by everyone as best as I can.”

“Why is it that other universes are always the lucky ones?” muttered the Doctor under his breath.

Harriet elbowed him in the ibs, discreetly. “Brother, dearest, why don't you go wait in the car?”

The Doctor did retreat. Saving the world entitled a human to some private hero worship. He kept one ear out, just in case the TARDIS has brought him because Slitheens, Daleks, or Cybermen were on route. Mostly though, he watches two timelines dance, snaking around each other as the first steps of a brand new bind were formed.

So when Harriet poked her head in the TARDIS a short time later, he decided to be smug about it. “You want to stay and you think it's a mad idea.”

Harriet opened her mouth then shut then opened it again. “How did you-”

The Doctor shrugged. “What kind of older brother would I be if I didn't keep an eye on you?”

Harriet’s irritation faded quickly. “Well? Is it possible?”

“It’s a lot of work, being First Lady.” He could hear Harriet’s heart race at the thought, which made his decision easy. “Rose,” he falters for a moment, “she lives here now. She and her father, Peter Tyler, run this world's Torchwood. They can get you settled in.”

She nods, taking that in, and then, “Apology accepted, Doctor.”

He turns away, checking the console. “It's not good to keep the President waiting.”

She shuffles out, and before the Doctor can second guess, the doors of the TARDIS snap shut and the engines grind to life.


End file.
